


Generational Gap

by moon_opals



Category: Disney Ducks (Comics), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-22 19:33:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19981348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_opals/pseuds/moon_opals
Summary: This was why he didn't like millennials.Scrooge visits Funso's.





	Generational Gap

“You used my last dollar and fifty cents to buy bottled nutmeg tea,” the young man said flatly. “I don’t have any money left.”

Scrooge frown, annoyed. “I know that,” he replied, “but I thought you’d have more.” He glanced at the vending machine, wanting the prized chip bag at the top middle.

The young man scowled. His annoyance was more present than it was when they met, when the manager excused himself for several minutes. A variety of reactions were ready to meet Scrooge; anger, annoyance, and most abundant, fear. Apathy was not one he believed he liked.

To his credit, the young man did as instructed. He sat at the table, pulled out his smartphone, and waited until his manager returned from a meeting with the repairman. That had been fifteen minutes ago.

“Do you think he’s coming back,” Scrooge sighed, stepping back. “I’d like to settle this before dinner.”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “Matt is easily intimidated.”

“I’d say,” Scrooge clicked his tongue. He crossed his hand over the other that curved around his cane. “He put up very little fight when the Beagles came.”

“No, no, he did not. No one did.”

“My nephews and niece did.”

The young man arched his eyebrow, giving him a look Scrooge could not describe. It wasn’t disbelief or even embarrassment. “Yeah, I know,” he replied. “I was there.”

He returned to his phone as if it was of no concern to him.

Scrooge grunted. “Course you were,” he scowled. “And was your phone there too when my grand nephews and niece were kidnapped?”

The young man inhaled deeply but did not set his phone aside. “Are you upset about that, Mr. McDuck,” he asked. “Because I really miss my dollar and fifty cents.”

Scrooge blushed with as much decency as he could muster. “Well yes,” he coughed. “Just a little, but I suppose no one can be blamed. Not many people can handle the Beagle Boys.”

“It’s true,” the young man said, massaging his forehead. He glanced above Scrooge’s top hat, searching for any sign of the manager. When he saw none, he exhaled and returned to his phone.

Scrooge had taken a seat at the table, giving up the pursuit of a bag of prune chips for the time being. Seeing the young man as he was, he tilted his head. There was something familiar about him, he thought. He didn’t know if it were his ears, or his muzzle, or those protruding teeth. He squinted and reclined in the chair. Suspicion stunk in the air.

“What are you doing on that thing, laddie?”

“Texting my girlfriend that I’m going to be late again,” he said tiredly. “She’s cooking seafood pasta. I don’t want her to stay up late for me.”

“I see,” he raised his beak. “Young love.”

“Yeah.”  
  
“I don’t suppose you plan to marry.”

Assumptions were twisted in a well of good and poor intent, but Scrooge sensed his companion understood his forwardness. In return, he smirked in a way that befuddled Scrooge.

“Nah,” he admitted slowly. “I’m a millennial. You know we’re hellbent on ruining the wedding industry.”

His mind could not and did not process the laughter leaving his mouth. Scrooge slapped a hand on the table and wiped his eye. “Oh yes,” he sighed. “The slow kill of the wedding industry is something that’s piqued my interests.”

“Really,” head tilting to the side, he scrutinized the old duck. “I guess it should. It was a rising industry for decades, but I did the numbers. Our best chance at marriage is at city hall. My four jobs wouldn’t afford the venue.”

It was Scrooge’s turn to scrutinize. “Four jobs,” he repeated suspiciously. “I find that’s interesting.”

“Or surprising?”

“Both.”

Where another person would pull back in offense, the young man laughed. “Well yeah, four jobs,” he explained. “I pay basic utilities, rent, groceries, electricity and cable bills, and student loans that’ll hound me to my grave.”

“Yes, but…,” Scrooge paused, more perplexed. “This isn’t your primary job.”

His dark eyes drew wide, and he reeled back, a loud bark on his lips. “Gods no,” he returned to the table. “Absolutely not. I work bartending on the weekends and moonlight throughout the week. My job job is graphic design at Glomgold Industries.”

Scrooge couldn’t help but wrinkle his beak at the name. “Certainly, you’d see why I don’t understand your reasons.”

“I do,” the young man smirked. “Glomgold Industries pays better than McDuck Enterprises, and don’t take it as an insult,” his passive defense irked Scrooge’s ears. “It’s a fact of life.”

Scrooge’s skepticism drew a sharp glare in his eyes, but he smirked, wry.

“Look, I get you’re smarter than the smarties, tougher than the toughies, and sharper than the sharpies -,”

“Not many people remember that part.”

“But you’re pretty ignorant when it comes to our current economic crisis and the effects of it,” he finished on a plain note. “Glomgold Industries’ salary can’t sustain the bills and loans. People need more to live today.”

Scrooge’s discontent drummed on the table. He refused to stop the harsh rapping of his fingers on semi-cracked wood. The man laughed quietly, seeing his aggravation fester on his face, and grabbed his phone.

“Working smarter is what your generation needs to learn.”

“Yes, yes, working smarter works well when you’re in a position of power to instill change for the better,” he said calmly. “Weren’t you born two years before American slavery was abolished?”

The strike caught him off guard, but Scrooge refused to let it show. He leaned forward, frowning. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” he breathed, gnawing on anything.

“You’re a smart man,” the man replied. “You know.”

Though a reply was on his tongue, ready to go, Scrooge was late in spitting it out. By the time he gathered the strength to retort, the manager returned. He apologized for the lateness and explained the repairman was having some trouble.

“Damn Frank,” he grumbled. “Always getting up to things.”

Scrooge nodded stiffly, unimpressed with his excuse, but he settled that now wasn’t the time to air other grievances. He extended his hand and smiled grimly when the larger man shook his hand. The manager looked aside and saw the younger man still sitting at the table.

“Hey Max,” he said. “Thanks for staying. You’re free to go.”

“Max?”

It was as if he’d evaporated in thin air. He waited five thousand and four hundred seconds overtime, and the moment he was released, he slipped away. Only the sound of his phone ringing told him where to search, and they found him towards the opposite end of the area, using the backdoor as an escape.

A weary smile replaced his exhaustion. "Amber, I know," he comforted. "Yeah, night time is dangerous, but I don't need you meeting me halfway." With a nod to the men, he pushed the door open and was swept into night.

“I’m lucky to have him,” the manager admitted after a moment’s time, stepping back. “Not many people can pull off the goofy mascot sound like he does.”

Scrooge did not pay attention to that part of the sentence, or the manager at all. “Amber,” he murmured softly. Why did the name sound familiar, distantly so? He shook his head; all the better to remember later. His reasons for being here were less amicable than either of them would like, but the work needed to be done. 

"Now," he coughed, scowl returned. "Lets discuss what happened to my nephews and niece under your supervision."

**Author's Note:**

> It'd really suck for Max to not only not be Funso but also Huey, Dewey, and Louie's age. That'll ruin all of my Max and Louie - Steve and Dustin comparisons.


End file.
